This youth that leads yon virgin by the hand
Is our Earl Robert, or your Robin Hood
That in these days was Earl of Huntingdon;
The ill-fac’d miser, brib’d in either hand
Is Worman, once the steward of his house,
Who, Judas like, betrays his liberal lord.
ANTHONY MUNDAY: The Downfall of Robert Earl of Huntingdon (1601)
In Locksley Hall that night all seemed peaceful and happy enough as his friends and tenants feasted in honour of Robert Fitzooth’s wedding with Marian Fitzwalter which was to take place on the morrow.
Earl Robert stood near the great fireplace welcoming his guests: a fine, well-built man of some thirty years, handsome, brown-haired with a short beard and clear eyes behind which seemed to lurk a shadow – of pity and of determination. All his movements were quick, but none of them was hurried; he was the man of action, the leader who could see things clearly and, in a flash, deliver his order and act upon his decision with swift accuracy and perfect coolness.
The Lady Marian Fitzwalter stood beside him. She was some five years younger than he, tall and beautiful, but strong and fearless also, a very fitting wife for such a man.
So certainly thought most of those present, as they came up in turn to offer their congratulations, or their services according to rank, or joined from time to time in a hearty song followed by the old Saxon pledge of ‘Waes hael!’ as they raised their goblets or silver-mounted horns of mead or ale to the two of them.
Two palmers however, who had come in late, led by Worman the steward, did not seem so eager in their toasts.
‘I smell treason, there’s no doubt of it!’ muttered the darker of the two.
‘It’s a whole nest of traitors, your Highness,’ agreed his companion. ‘They’ll give us proof before long, you may depend upon it!’
As if to bear out his words, a group of foresters dressed all in Lincoln green, who stood near the door, began to sing:
Long live Richard,
Robin and Richard!
Long live Richard!
Drink to the Lion-heart
Everyone!
‘Down with John, indeed!’ said the dark palmer grimly. ‘Now I trust that my disguise is good – and that master Worman, the false steward, won’t waver again in his loyalties! Hallo, what have we here?’
As the song ended there was a slight stir near the doorway and a tall forester dressed in russet and scarlet appeared pushing his way through the throng, and leading a boy by the hand.
The second palmer stiffened suddenly like a pointer-dog smelling game.
‘My lord,’ he whispered to his companion. ‘That boy is the son of old Much the miller whom you saw shot this afternoon when he escaped from those who would so justly have burned out his eyes for deer-slaying on a second charge.’
‘Indeed, my good Sheriff,’ replied the supposed palmer. ‘This false Earl Robert harbours the sons of traitors and criminals, does he?… But here comes Master Worman.’
‘How now, Master Worman?’ asked the disguised Sheriff in an undertone. ‘What does this mean?’
‘Yonder is Earl Robert’s man, William Scathlock,’ answered Worman, ‘and he brings with him the son of that traitor who threatened your highness this afternoon, and in whose black heart I was lucky enough to plant an arrow.’
‘Well?’
‘Your Highness, when I inquired for Much the Miller’s son – never mind from whom – they told me that all was well with him since a certain Will Scarlet had come and taken him away to be cared for by Robin Hood!’
‘Will Scarlet!… Robin Hood,’ mused Prince John. ‘The devil!… Master Worman, and you, good Sir Sheriff, we are in better luck than ever we dreamed of! Do you not see? Will Scarlet takes Much to the care of Robin Hood… William Scathlock brings that same Much to the care of Robert Fitzooth – to that false Earl Robert who sells his lands and uses the proceeds so mysteriously… Why, my good fellows, it is proof positive… And that song they were singing:
Long live Richard,
Robin and Richard!
Yes, there’s no doubt of it… Well, your fortunes are made. Tomorrow this traitor Robert or Robin is declared an outlaw – and you take and hang him forthwith. Then of course all his lands and goods are forfeit to me: I take them – and that attractive young heiress the Lady Marian lacks a husband… She has one waiting for her though, as I know well, and one true to my cause… Yes, Sir Guy of Gisborne shall have her – and with her father’s good will, or I am much mistaken in my man… And Sir Guy shall pay me a fine fat dowry for his bride!’
No one suspected the two supposed palmers at Earl Robert’s feast, but none the less there was an air of anxiety over the wedding preparations in the chapel of Fountains Abbey next day.
Lord Fitzwalter seemed troubled and uneasy, though his daughter Marian was calm enough, even though she and her father stood waiting at the altar some time before Earl Robert rode up to the door with his troop of bowmen. Placing his men in the aisles in military formation – much to Lord Fitzwalter’s surprise and the Abbot’s indignation – Earl Robert only then came forward to take his place beside Marian.
Looking anything but pleased, the fat little Abbot began to intone the ceremony, his long lines of monks chanting the responses in the wide chancel behind him.
But before ever the words were spoken which would make Robert and Marian man and wife, there came the sound of galloping hooves, the clash and jingle of armour, and into the chapel strode a knight with a drawn sword in his hand and followed by a band of men at arms.
‘What means this sacrilege?’ cried the Abbot, torn between fear and indignation.
‘Hold!’ cried the knight. ‘I, Sir Guy of Gisborne, come in the King’s name to forbid this ceremony to proceed! Pursuivant, read the mandate!’
A man dressed in the livery of the Sheriff of Nottingham stepped forward, unrolled a parchment, and read in a loud voice:
‘Be it known to all, in the name of Prince John, Regent of all England, that Robert Fitzooth, known as Robert Earl of Huntingdon – known also as Robin Hood; for as much as he hath aided the King’s enemies, broken the King’s laws, and is a traitor to the King and to those by him set in authority; that the same Robert Fitzooth or Robin Hood is hereby declared outlaw, his lands and goods forfeit, and his person proscribed and banished. In the name of Richard our King and of the Regent, Prince John!’
‘Sir Guy,’ said Robert quietly, ‘this is an ill quest you come on, and all unworthy of the high order of knighthood which you profess. As for this mandate, I question its force! Show me King Richard’s seal attached to it… You cannot. Show me then the seal of My Lord Bishop of Ely the King’s only lawfully appointed Regent… Why, that is missing from the mandate also!… Tell me wherein I have played the part of a traitor – and wherefore I, Robert Fitzooth, Esquire of Locksley and Earl of Huntingdon, should answer for the supposed misdeeds of this mythical wood-demon called Robin Hood who is surely no more than a bogey raised by the credulity and superstition of the ignorant!’
Guy of Gisborne laughed harshly.
‘This is no time for jests and fairy tales,’ he cried. ‘We all know that you have ever flouted the laws and striven to set the serfs against their masters. Why, the very act of calling yourself Earl of Huntingdon in right of your mother’s Saxon forbears shows you as a traitor: the old Saxon earls were deprived and outlawed for refusing to obey their rightful King, William of Normandy, and only the Earldom created by the King has any right in law. As for your trespasses in the matter of the Forest Laws – everyone knows your skill in archery – and there are few travellers in these parts who have not eaten the King’s venison under your roof. Finally, it is useless to pretend ignorance of the crimes committed by you under the false name of Robin Hood. How many among your own followers are proscribed felons who are said to belong to Robin Hood’s band?… What of his lieutenant who is also of your household?… What of Much, the Miller’s son, whom Robin Hood has under his care – in your house of Locksley Hall?’
‘Why then,’ came the quiet answer, ‘here and now Robert Fitzooth, Earl of Huntingdon, ceases to be. You have called me Robin Hood: both you and your Sheriff – yes and Prince John himself shall live to fear that name. And not only you, but all those like you: the abbots and bishops who grow fat on the sufferings of the poor; the Norman knights and barons who break both the King’s law and the law of God in their cruelties and oppressions – yes, and all their kind shall go in terror so long as Robin Hood reigns in Sherwood Forest: in Sherwood, and wherever else wrongs need to be righted – until King Richard comes home from the Crusade and there is justice once more in this fair land of England.’
Then, turning to Marian Fitzwalter who had stood all this while by his side, Robin said gently:
‘Lady Marian, did you give your love to the Earl of Huntingdon whose lands stretch from the Trent to the Ouse, or to plain Robin Hood the outlaw who returns now to the home of his birth under the green leaves of Sherwood Forest?’
‘Neither to the Earl nor to his Earldom,’ answered Marian firmly, ‘but to the man whom I love and whose wife alone I shall be.’
‘Indeed, I thought no other,’ said Robin gravely, ‘and though the ceremony is but half completed, I hold that we are none the less man and wife in the sight of God and of this congregation… Lord Fitzwalter, to your care I commit your daughter: guard her well at Arlingford Castle, and I will demand her of you again when King Richard is here to place her hand in mine.’
‘To that also I swear!’ cried Marian. ‘You, Robin, are my lord and my husband, and no other shall ever be aught to me, though I live and die a maid!’
‘Go quickly now,’ said Robin to Lord Fitzwalter, ‘and go you quickly with him, sweet Marian. No, you cannot help me: when I have beaten off these curs, I ride to the merry greenwood, there to set up my court!’
‘Come now, false traitor and outlaw Robin Hood!’ cried Guy of Gisborne. ‘Out of your own mouth are you convicted of treason many times over before this company – whom I call upon to witness… Come now, deliver up your sword and submit yourself to the authority of your undoubted lord, Prince John. If you do so, there may still be mercy for you!’
‘He knows of no mercy!’ cried Robin. ‘Prince John knows only the desires of his own evil heart – and you do ill to serve him… As for my sword, I deliver it up to John and his officers – thus!’
With a sudden lightning movement Robin whipped the sword from his side and smote Guy of Gisborne such a blow upon his iron helmet that he stumbled and fell to the ground insensible. Then he charged down the nave, his men closing in from either side as he went, and a short sharp battle took place near the chapel door.
‘Help! Murder! Sacrilege!’ shouted the fat Abbot, and his monks and friars took up the cry as they pushed and crowded in their eagerness to escape through the narrow door which led to the Abbey. They were speeded on their way by an occasional arrow from Robin’s archers who continued to send shaft after shaft among Sir Guy’s followers until they too fell back towards the door by which the Abbot had already squeezed his way into safety.
When the sound of horses’ hooves told him that Lord Fitzwalter with Marian and their followers were well away in the direction of Arlingford Castle, Robin gave the signal to his men, and with one determined charge they were out of the chapel and away through Sherwood Forest in the direction of Locksley Hall.
Sir Guy, still half stunned, was only just raising himself from the floor of the chapel, and Robin had disappeared with all his following into the green depths of Sherwood by the time he had gathered his wits and staggered to his feet.
‘There’s no use in following him now, God’s malaison upon this rogue Fitzooth and his friends!’ he exclaimed. ‘But he’ll find the Sheriff and Master Worman waiting for him at Locksley Hall if he ventures there!’
Bidding those of his followers who still stood upon their feet attend to those whom Robin’s followers had laid out on the chapel floor, Sir Guy made his way into the Abbey, where the Abbot was only too ready to entertain him to dinner.
‘An unholy scoundrel!’ spluttered the Abbot, who needed his goblet filling again and yet again with choice wine before he could recover from the shock to his dignity and the terror of those terrible whizzing arrows. ‘He is well outlawed. May a blessing rest upon the head of the man who cuts him off!’
‘A dangerous fellow,’ agreed Sir Guy, putting his hand to his aching head. ‘And I grieve that he escaped us for now he will grow more dangerous.’
‘Earl Robert is a worthy man,’ remarked a friar who was quite the tallest, broadest, and reddest in the face of any there. ‘He is the best marksman in England and can outshoot any forester or archer both for distance and for directness of aim.’
‘Brother Michael! Brother Michael!’ puffed the Abbot. ‘You speak treason! How can an outlaw be a worthy man? And as for his skill as an archer –’
‘He will draw the long bow with any yeoman,’ interrupted Brother Michael placidly, ‘and split a willow wand at two hundred paces!’
‘Be that as it may,’ said Sir Guy, glowering at the friar, ‘he is an outlaw now – and the sooner an arrow reaches his heart the better.’
‘It is a dangerous thing to outlaw such a man,’ boomed Brother Michael. ‘You have taken his home: where will he live? Why, in the Forest! You have taken his cattle and his swine: what will he eat? Why, the King’s deer! You have robbed him of money and goods – why then, he will rob you and all of your kind. Oh-ho, no knight nor sheriff, no abbot nor bishop will be safe from him now!’
‘All the more reason why we should catch him swiftly and string him to a gallows!’ snapped Sir Guy. ‘But father Abbot, tell me of the Lady Marian: how came Lord Fitzwalter to betroth her to such a man as Fitzooth – for surely neither father nor daughter can have been ignorant that he was Robin Hood?’
‘Oh, she is a fine lass, truly!’ cried Brother Michael before the Abbot could get in a word. ‘I am her confessor, and indeed I should know! Has she not beauty, grace, wit, good sense and high valour? Can she not fence with the sword, ply the quarter-staff and shoot with the long bow all but as well as – as Robin Hood himself? Truly a worthy mate for a worthy man: I would, sir knight, that you had delayed your coming but a brief half-hour, and a knot would have been tied that all our usurper Prince John’s mandates could not have untied.’
‘My sword would have cut it soon enough!’ shouted Sir Guy. ‘And it is only your cloth, master friar, that saves your head from feeling the edge of that same sword.’
‘Oh, the penances I will impose upon you for this!’ began the Abbot, turning to Brother Michael and almost bursting with rage.
‘Why then, holy Father,’ cried the friar, ‘I will not be here to suffer them! I have a ready welcome at Arlingford Castle – and thither I will hasten and take up my abode.’
‘And I will accompany you,’ said Guy of Gisborne grimly. ‘This paragon of beauty, the Lady Marian, is well worth a visit – and may well prove a bait that will draw this outlawed Robin Hood into a trap!’